


Lost Souls & Revelry

by Meridas



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other, Sense8 AU, Slow Burn, and many soft feels, canon-typical amounts of alcohol and intoxication, chapter-specific content warnings in the beginning notes!, mighty nein shenanigans, other romantic relationships tbd, zero knowledge of Sense8 is required
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 01:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15450357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
Summary: It starts one day when Mollymauk looks up and grins at Yasha, and as Beauregard is in the middle of her morning stretches, and with a bright spike of panic, and when Jester is bored, and after a long shift, and at the fringes of society, and it doesn't stop when seven strangers come together to see a carnival.aka the self-indulgent sense8 au





	1. heartlines on your hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic title comes from "Renegades" by X Ambassadors
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Heartlines" by Florence + The Machine

It starts one day when Mollymauk looks up and grins at Yasha, reveling in the attention their carnival is getting from a pack of excited children. It’s the most normal thing in Molly’s world, except for the fact that Yasha left two days ago. For a moment he thinks she’s back again, has showed up silent and unannounced the way she does, except she doesn’t grin back at him. She just looks at him the same way she does when she encounters an unspoken rule, a custom she doesn’t understand, or a reaction she doesn’t have context for.

“Molly?” she asks. She looks around, and before Molly can ask her when she got to town, he’s somewhere different.

Yasha is alone. She’s made camp at the edge of a foggy meadow. It’s colder where she is, and somehow without asking Mollymauk knows that it’s because she traveled north two days ago and lighting a fire would attract attention. She’s lying in wait. She hasn’t told him a single word of this, but he knows.

Molly stares at her. Yasha stares back.

“What the fuck?”

...

It starts one day as Beauregard is in the middle of her morning stretches. She’s enjoying the flex of her muscles even though she’s definitely letting her mind wander instead of centering herself, when she looks over and sees a blue tiefling copying her movements with a look of over-exaggerated concentration on her face.

Beau freezes immediately. Her uptight teachers should be damn proud that she holds her pose instead of dropping the forms immediately. “Hey,” she hisses. “Who the fuck are you? How’d you get in here?”

The woman freezes too, mirroring Beau. There’s jewelry in her horns, the kind that sways and makes little chiming noises when she turns her head. Her eyes are weird when she meets Beau’s gaze – usually tiefling eyes are one solid color. She’s even got freckles.

“I don’t know,” she whispers loudly. “But this is so cool! I have no idea where this is! Where am I? I’m Jester, by the way! Who are you?”

Beau stares at her. The girl wobbles a little in their frozen pose.

“This is a fuckin’ monastery,” Beau says. “And it’s goddamn dawn.” She pauses. “Nope. It’s too early for this. Fuck this.” She drops her pose and walks away. Fuck the forms. She must still be dreaming.

“Wait!” Jester-the-magically-appearing-tiefling cries. Beau hears her jewelry jingling as she catches up. “Hang on, hang on, who are you really? Just because this is probably a dream doesn’t mean it’s not super cool! I want to know stuff!”

“It’s my dream, weirdo lady!” Beau snaps. “And I’m going back to bed and it’ll be over, so go away.”

The girl scowls. “My name is Jester,” she repeats firmly.

“Cool. Don’t care.” Beau rounds the corner and plows right into her least favorite teacher. Because of course she does.

Xenoth frowns slightly at her. “Beauregard? Who are you talking to?”

Beau looks over her shoulder. The blue girl is gone like she was never there.

...

It starts one day with a bright spike of panic and Caleb fumbles at his neck, clutching for his amulet because there is a woman who just appeared from the air and she is staring at him. She’s tiny and grubby and he’s fairly certain she is a goblin underneath that mask, but her big golden eyes are fixed directly on Caleb and she _appeared out of nowhere_. No one else appears to notice her. She isn’t really here and she’s looking directly at Caleb.

His hand finds his amulet under his shirt, and relief surges through him as he feels its familiar protective magic. It can’t be Ikithon. It can’t be Astrid or Eodwulf or anyone at the Academy, not if his amulet is intact. This is something new.

It cannot be anyone he is running from, but it cannot be a good thing that this woman is still staring right at him when she should not be able to see him if she is not really here. Caleb puts his hand out, a spell at his fingertips to tell him what kind of magic this woman has, what she is using to see him from afar. Her eyes widen and she screeches loudly, and in an instant she is gone.

Caleb lowers his hand. He’s shaking. No one else reacted to a loud goblin shriek in the center of a sleepy market.

...

It starts one day when Jester is bored, which is the perfect time for things to start happening. The first visit is to a really quiet place and there’s one grumpy girl. She says it’s a monastery, but she’s not nearly as excited about this weird thing that’s happening as Jester is. In fact, the girl thinks it’s a dream, but it’s long past dawn in Nicodranas and Jester has been awake for hours so it’s definitely not a dream for her.

And then she’s back in her bedroom like she never left.

“Did you see that?!” she shouts. “Holy shit! That was so cool! Did you do that to me? Is that something I can do now?!”

She hears a quiet, thoughtful hum. “That was, indeed, very cool. It’s nothing to do with me, though, dear.”

Jester hums back. She’s going to get out her sketchbook and draw the grumpy girl, but first…

“Let’s try to do it again!”

...

It starts one day after a long shift. It takes him a moment to notice a new voice among the chatter of the tavern, the raucous laughter and slurred singing. It doesn’t matter what time it is in a port tavern like this one; sailors arrive at all times of day and go and get pissed immediately. Fjord’s used to the noise. He tips his glass, knocking back the rest of his firewater, when from right behind him comes a girl’s off-key, enthusiastic, _loud_ singing voice.

Fjord chokes on his drink. He spins around toward the voice, already feeling his face flush. This girl is singing right along to the filthy shanty, belting out the words along with the most grizzled and drunken sailor in the place. She’s leaning on the back of Fjord’s chair, grinning ear to ear. Her blue tail swishes happily behind her, jewelry flashing in the light.

Fjord glances around quickly. Amazingly, no one seems to be paying attention to her yet, but the tiefling’s clothes and jewelry definitely set her apart from the crowd in here. “Hey, uh, miss,” he says, laying a hand on her arm. The girl grins at him.

“This is much more fun than a stuffy monastery!” she exclaims, which, _what?_

Fjord’s not sure how to reply to that. “Uh… you might have wandered into the wrong place, miss. It’s a bit of a rough bunch in here.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine!” the girl says. She claps along with the beat. “You are getting pickpocketed, though, in case you were wondering!”

Fjord whips his head around and grabs the urchin’s hand just as it leaves his pocket with a handful of silver. When he turns back to thank the girl, she’s gone.

...

It starts one day at the fringes of society, where Nott is debating with herself whether it’s safe to venture into this town. She’s out of rations and she really doesn’t want to forage in the woods any more. The town will at least have a barn or a storehouse where the rats gather, so she can kill something fresh. If she’s lucky, maybe she’ll even find something shiny to add to her collections.

But there’s a lot of people in town. Nott swallows hard, feeling her guts twist up and her heart begin to pound. She fumbles for her flask and gives it a shake. It’s only about a quarter-full. Maybe she can refill it in town, once she gets up the nerve. She takes a deep breath.

Then there’s a man in front of her, staring at her. Nott freezes – _stupid, stupid, don’t freeze, run! Shoot! Something!_ – but he looks like he froze, too. The human has bruise-dark circles under his eyes and he’s skinny. His hands shake. He’s clutching something at his chest and there’s hardly any color to his face. He looks as terrified of her as she is of his sudden appearance.

The human moves first, raising one hand abruptly. Nott doesn’t know anything about magic but she knows a spell when she sees one about to be cast at her. She shrieks and dashes off, away from town.

Where did he even come from?! She was so sure nobody was near her hiding place! She has to find a new way to approach the town now.

Nott hides in some bushes and clutches her flask. She’s shaking all over. Without hesitating, she tips her flask up and finishes the whole thing off. Fuck it. She’ll find more. She’ll steal more. She’ll manage.

When the whiskey settles warm in her stomach and she feels brave enough to peek out from her hiding place, there’s no sign of the human anywhere.

...

It starts one day, she supposes, but as she stares back at Mollymauk she realizes she doesn’t actually know that this is the first time. They’ve been inseparable as usual for the past month with the carnival – Molly has been at her side for weeks. Then two days ago, she was called away. Now, somehow her friend is standing in her little camp instead of safely with the circus where she left him.

Molly would never follow her when she chooses to leave. The twins tried once, because they’re nosy little shits, but Yasha just let them fumble around for a bit and lose her trail before she got too far from the circus. It’s dangerous where she goes alone. Molly doesn’t ask questions she can’t answer, he just slips any spare rations into her bags when he thinks she can’t see, and he kisses her on the forehead when she goes back. That’s how it is with Molly, and she loves him for it.

“What the fuck?” Molly blurts out. Then he stumbles, and Yasha instinctively steadies him.

Then they’re back in town, and the crowd around Mollymauk is moving toward the tent. Bo moves away from Molly, having knocked his shoulder into the tiefling to get him moving again. Molly’s glass swords are in his hands, and the sun is setting behind them. He glances at Yasha, eyes wide. She motions with her hands, miming his juggling and ushering him along.

Molly flashes a smile to her, to the crowd, and his swords flash through the air. Yasha falls back to her place at his back, keeping an eye on their carnival like she always does.

This time, no one but Molly can see her do it. She’s still sitting at her campsite waiting for nightfall. But at the same time, she’s here. She has things she has to do and she’s getting them done, but it seems that she can also watch out for Mollymauk while she’s gone. She’s not sure what’s going on with them, but this is no bad thing.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here I go half-cocked on my favorite AU because I'm too impatient and it's been multiple Thursdays now so I'm done waiting for canon, off I go!  
> hey come find me on tumblr at joyful-mollymauk aka denial land  
> also someone pls invite me to the mythical widomauk discord I'm gonna need the inspiration y'all


	2. in my right hand there’s the great unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "The Draw" by Bastille

She’s feeling the itch. It’s the worst time for it, really. Her flask is empty and she’s in a small town, somewhere it’s hard to disappear into a crowd. She knows it’s a bad time, but she’s tried to ignore the itch all day and she’s going out of her mind.

She has her eye on a beautiful red glow. The sun is shining and glittering through a row of bottles, lined up along the edge of a kiosk on the street. The bottle has shiny gold foil on the top and it looks like a ruby and Nott is pretty sure it’s alcoholic. It’s like it has her name written on it.

Nott hunkers down in the shadows. She touches her mask, making sure that it’s still in place. The little marketplace is as busy as it gets at the moment, and she probably won’t get another chance this good to snag something and get away without being seen. Her heart is beating hard but it’s partly anticipation as she eyes her prize.

It’s risky in a town this small. She’s spotted just a small handful of Crownsguard throughout, but they’re certainly present. But she can’t wait. She needs something to soothe her nerves before she moves on. Since her encounter with that human mage in the outskirts, she’s been having strange dreams. Last night she had a horrible nightmare about being on a boat, nothing on the horizon but water and more water. It was a bad morning to wake up to an empty flask.

She’ll be quick. She’ll grab the bottle and blend into the crowd before anyone’s the wiser.

Nott takes a deep breath and steps out into the street.

…

Beauregard breathes in deeply, her eyes closed. She centers herself in the physical feeling of her body. Her hands rest on her knees. Her monk vestments are soft and loose and familiar on her skin. She keeps her shoulders back, opening her whole torso for her even, measured breaths. The sun is shining down on her face, which itches with dirt and new growth and—

“Gods damn it!” Beau shouts.

A shabby ginger guy scowls at her. “If you could please stop it,” he snaps, “I am trying to concentrate.”

“So am I, asshole!” Beau shoots back. “I’m trying to concentrate on not having any of these fucking out-of-body experiences, but you’re here anyway!”

“I am also trying to avoid more of this ridiculous shit,” the man snaps. He turns sharply away from her, fumbling through his pockets.

Beau slams her eyes closed and fucking _breathes_. She breathes out through her nose like her teachers tell her, only it comes out in a huff instead of one silent release of tension because _that fucking guy is still there_.

“How about,” the guy says, voice tight and stilted, “you focus on your shit and I will focus on mine, yes? You are clearly not a wizard, so you are no concern of mine.”

Beau flips him off. “You’re the one ruining my meditation here. I’m trying to do some monk shit and block this out, okay, you’re the one invading my head!”

“None of this makes sense!” the man yells, spinning back around. “Neither of you should be able to see me at all!”

“What do you mean, neither of us?” Beau narrows her eyes. “Did you see that blue tiefling, too?”

The guy looks taken aback. “What tiefling? No – a goblin woman appeared in front of me.” He grips roughly at his own hair, and Beau’s scalp tugs uncomfortably. “What is happening?”

Beau leaps up. “Hey, wait a sec, I’ve got—”

He rears back, hands flying toward her. “Don’t—!”

Beau falls on her ass hard. He’s gone. It’s just her alone in the meditation room.

“Fucking damn it!”

…

“This is the coolest thing ever!”

Fjord smiles down at the rope in his hands. He can feel the salt spray from the water, the wind whipping through Jester’s dress as she holds her arms out wide. She’s been skipping around the deck since she popped in a few minutes ago. She’s got a boundless energy and curiosity for new things, and Fjord’s deeply grateful that whatever weird connection they’ve got, it seems to be giving Jester Fjord’s own sea legs.

“Do you think I can do that?”

Fjord glances up. His first furtive look is around the deck, to see if there’s anyone nearby to hear what sounds like him talking to himself. Reassured, he glances over to Jester. She’s looking up into the ship’s rigging, watching crew members hard at work dozens of feet off the ground, clinging to ropes or scrambling across ladders. Her big blue eyes go back to Fjord as she grins. “Can _you_ do that? Can we try it?”

Fjord chuckles at her enthusiasm. “Sorry, Jester,” he mutters. He knows she can hear him, even standing a dozen feet away engrossed in the bustle and work of the ship. “It’s not my job today, I’m needed right where I am.”

She sighs and comes over to flop down next to him. “But what you’re doing isn’t as cool,” she grumbles. She glances over at the rope in his hands. “You’re not even braiding, like, hair or flowers or ribbons or anything. Couldn’t you put some ribbons in there? Just to make it look nicer, I’m sure it will still be a great rope even if there are ribbons in it.”

Fjord shakes his head, smiling. “It’s not that kinda rope, Jester, sorry to disappoint. Just needs to be functional is all.”

Jester snorts. “Things can be functional and also be pretty,” she chastises. Fjord blinks, and looks over to see the rope in her hands as he looks at her. She’s deft and practiced with it, just as much as he is.

 _She's here because of me,_ Fjord realizes with a jolt. _She’s doing as well as I could because I_ am _doing it._

He shakes his head, and the weird transposition snaps back into place. He looks sidelong at Jester to see if she noticed the feeling of trading places for a moment.

She’s got a book out, though, and she’s not even looking at him or the rope anymore. “Just like this,” she says, and Fjord gets the feeling that she’s speaking to someone else – some third person that he can’t see or hear. Is that possible? Is Jester some kinda magic-uses that teleports herself around talking to all kinds of people?

“… and it could have like that really nice paint in there, too, that looks just like actual gold, ooh! And you could hang up lots and lots of curtains for little rooms, you know to make like your bedroom, and your dressing room, and lots of them until you basically just have your whole house—”

He watches her hands move across the page as his own fingers twine the rope around and around and around.

…

Yasha glances around one more time. She’s not sure what she expects to see, camping out a mile off the road like she is, but she just wants to make sure. There’s no one in sight, nothing interrupting the quiet sounds of animals rusting about their lives.

She sits down and leans back against a tree, getting comfortable. Her sword is close at hand, as always. She’s safe.

“Molly?” she calls tentatively.

There’s no ripple, no feeling of displacement or magic being worked. She is just suddenly sitting next to Mollymauk, flooded with the sensations of their tent at the carnival. It’s no illusion; she feels the warm, washed-soft flannel of Molly’s sheets, the tent flap thrown open to let daylight and a breeze in, the familiar smell of Mollymauk’s perfumes and soaps.

Molly himself lights up at her appearance. “Hello, you,” he beams. Yasha smiles at him as he leans over and pecks her on the cheek. It’s just the two of them in the tent at the moment. Molly’s swords are laid out on his gaudy coat, and his backpack is open next to Yasha. Desmond’s side of the tent is empty and cleared out.

“Where are we headed?” Yasha asks. Molly flops down next to her on his bedroll and leans into her shoulder while he continues packing his belongings.

“Further southeast?” he says, tilting his head. Yasha shakes her head fondly. It’s never a certain thing to ask Mollymauk where the circus was going to end up. He notices her movement and shrugs. “I think I recognized the name Gustav is aiming for, but honestly I’m probably wrong.”

“Hm.” Yasha thinks of her current camp, deep in the forest. If Molly is right this time, the circus is heading in her direction this time, or close enough.

He sneaks a glance at her, sidelong. For a second her heart skips, and she thinks, _this is the time you’ll have to lie to him._ Then his lips tick up to reveal one sharp tooth, and he bumps his shoulder into hers.

Molly doesn’t ask. He packs up his things, and he tells her about the local halfling children who will be sad to see the carnival go, who have been entranced by Molly’s card-readings and flashy jewelry for the past few days. She brings out the book he gave her and shows him three new flowers she found, tough but colorful little mountain blooms in white and blue and orange.

Molly doesn’t ask, and Yasha doesn’t say just in case, but she feels that she’s close to finishing this task. This new situation with Molly is nice – she can check on him, talk to him, sit with him around the fire at night and listen to everyone laugh and talk together. She doesn’t have to worry about him while she’s gone. She knows that he could call on her if he was really in trouble. But she still likes having something to look forward to at the end of her tasks, something to point her feet towards and go with purpose.

She likes going back to where Mollymauk is. She may not have a place to call home anymore, but going towards Molly always feels right.

Outside the tent, Gustav calls his name. All of Molly’s things are packed, and it’s time to move on. Yasha presses a quick kiss into the soft purple curls between Molly’s horns.

“I’m here if you need me,” she says softly. “Always.”

Molly leans into her for a moment, warm and lanky and comforting. “Be safe, you,” he mutters.

Then she is by herself again, leaning against a tree in the brightening daylight.

But she’s still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I'm going to update weekly, it'll be fun!  
> work: welcome back from vacation, we didn't do anything for this client while you were gone and now there's four days left in the month and we're super behind!  
> me: *internal screaming*
> 
> thank you to the lovely human who invited me to the widomauk discord!! you guys are all amazing.  
> I'm also on tumblr at joyful-mollymauk!


	3. all of my flaws and all of your flaws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *puts both middle fingers up at canon and backflips off a building*
> 
> Real talk for a second, because this chapter does contain some trigger warnings! Part of Yasha's POV also deals with Fjord's shipwreck as it was discussed in ep22, so if you are sensitive to underwater/drowning or panic attacks, please skip from "They almost make it." to the next POV break where it switches to Nott. It's not very long and I will put a brief description in the end notes. Please stay safe!
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Flaws" by Bastille

Caleb feels lightheaded. He’s woozy like he’s been drinking, not like he’s dehydrated or hungry or tired. It’s been a rough few years now and he’s learned the differences in all of those things. He runs his tongue across his lips and tastes some kind of fruity wine, although his lips are dry and chapped. Cherries?

He lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud. He should have known better. It’s as simple as that. Now he’s stuck not only in a tiny backwater village with no library but in the _prison_ of a tiny backwater village with no fucking library. He has no idea how he’s going to get out and nothing learned to show for his mistakes.

A loud clang makes him jump, eyes flying open. There’s a commotion at the door, raised voices from the guards and a belligerent shriek from someone—

_—her eyes widen and she screeches loudly, and in an instant she is gone—_

Caleb scrambles to his feet, his heart pounding. His head swims and there’s someone being hauled to his cell door and the taste of cherries and alcohol is overwhelming—

The door creaks open and a small bundle of rags is tossed near Caleb’s feet. He presses back against the wall. The rough wood is hard against his back, hard stone floor cold against his face, _what is happening to him—?_

The door slams shut. A pair of large yellow eyes glow out of a dirty, bandaged-up face as it lifts up towards him.

“Oh,” Caleb says faintly. “Oh.”

…

“Beauregard, if you cannot focus on your lessons, might you tell me what you _are_ focusing on?”

Beau whips her head around. Xenoth – petty asshole that he is – has his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised at her.

She clears her throat. “Uh… no.”

One of Xenoth’s eyes twitches. Beau grins at him.

She’s had better things to think about, the last few days. She’s constantly surrounded by monks who like getting up in other people’s business and most of them specifically chose this particular Archive because they’re fucking smart, which means they can tell when Beau’s bullshitting. Trying to keep her possible hallucinations under wraps is fraying her already razor-thin nerves. Trying to get some alone time in the library has never been her favorite thing, and trying to look up some of this weird shit has turned up nothing but frustrating dead ends and sleepless nights.

So she’s kind of feeling like a dick this morning. 

Xenoth sighs at her, and Beau feels her shoulders tensing. She fucking _hates_ that condescending, disappointed sound.

_I don’t want to be here_ , she wants to scream. _Maybe just fucking let me leave and we never have to hate each other’s presence again!_

Out of the corner of her eye, Beau sees the blue tiefling again.

She grits her teeth and focuses on her own surroundings. The tiefling isn’t interacting with Beau’s space, not like last time. She seems to be busy in her own wherever-the-fuck, rushing around and grabbing things. Without looking away from Xenoth’s boring face, Beau can just barely see a nice leather backpack sitting slouched at the tiefling’s feet.

It doesn’t feel like she’s going crazy this time. It feels like a sign.

Beau doesn’t really have contacts from her old schemes running this far south, but she can get by on her own. She breathes in, breathes out, starts making a mental tally of everything she’ll need to bring with her to survive on the road, outside the monastery and outside her father’s influence.

For the moment, she loses sight of the blue tiefling. She’s got her own plans to make, and no one – not Xenoth, not her father, certainly not some tiefling or grubby guy in a coat who are probably hallucinations anyway – is going to get in Beau’s way if she wants to leave.

It’s definitely time to move on.

…

Yasha tips her face back, letting the rain soak into her hair and run down her skin. She loves the sound it makes on the leaves, how it makes the grass slick and smooth when she runs her hands over it.

She smiles when she feels a new presence beside her. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Almost was, when I started hearing the rain.” Yasha opens her eyes and looks over at Mollymauk, settling down next to her. He tilts his head back, too, and sticks his tongue out to catch raindrops.

“I’m coming back soon,” Yasha tells him. She never promises things like this, but it feels different, now that they share this new connection. “We can see how this works when we’re back together.”

Molly stretches, lying back on the wet grass. “I don’t know, I kind of like this. The rain feels nice, but I also get to be nice and dry in my warm bed.” He flashes a smile at her, bright in a sudden flash of lightning.

Thunder rumbles close, very close, and a sudden sheet of water soaks them both. Molly yelps and sits up and Yasha frowns because this isn’t the clean, fresh smell of rain and ozone it smells like…

“Salt?” Molly asks in disbelief, and all of a sudden neither of them are where the other is.

Yasha stumbles immediately as the world tips and sways beneath her. Molly’s hand seizes her forearm, nails biting into her bare skin. “Yasha,” he chokes out, “ _what the fuck?_ ”

Nothing could have prepared her for the vast expanse of roiling, tumultuous ocean that surrounds them. They’re suspended on a small wooden deck in the middle of a fierce storm, booms of thunder and sheets of rain that pummel the deck with a sound like war drums. The sea and the sky meld into a black, boiling mass of fury and noise all around them, and Yasha has no fear of storms in her heart but this spells death and destruction.

A loud yell makes her whip around, the first mortal sound amidst the noise of the elements. A tall half-orc pushes himself up from the deck, staring at the two of them. His sleeve is torn and bloodied, and he slips again on the madly yawing deck.

There’s a rope in his hand, and in a heartbeat Yasha feels it in her own, knows that with the mutiny raging belowdecks his best chance is to lash himself to the sturdiest structure of the boat and ride out the storm, and pray. He’s fighting the wind and rain and injured, trembling muscles, and rapidly losing strength.

Yasha takes up the rope.

She feels it like an extension of herself, like the most natural thing in the world is to look down and see green skin and waterlogged leather armor. She pushes forward and she knows exactly where to go, knows the parts of this ship like the back of her hand. The strength of her legs and her lungs and her faith carry the half-orc another meter, another step, another—

They almost make it.

Molly shouts but it’s not enough warning, and a wave slams into _YashaMollyFjord_ and their senses are battered from every direction and when they open their eyes again all they see is black.

The ocean batters her from every direction. She had no idea which was is up or down, where the surface or the ship might be. She still has no idea how she got here, and now she has no idea what to do.

Yasha closes her eyes and she trusts in her Stormlord, trusts that this man knows how to survive in his profession, and she lends him all the strength that she has. He blows the air from his lungs, searching for the surface, and Yasha gasps in a breath and she gags on saltwater but she has strength to spare, she can save this man who is linked to her like Molly is—

Molly is—

Molly is choking on _dirt_ sea _clawing at the earth_ pushing through water _why am I here what is this no no no help me soil filling his mouth and choking him and he’s trying to spit it out but_ water all around _it’s crushing there’s nowhere_ the bubbles going nowhere _he’s screaming_ almost out of air _can’t hear a thing scraping at dirt fingernails breaking pushing_ exhaling _where is the surface_ where is the surface _choking going to die here why am I here help me help me help me—_

“MOLLY!”

…

 “Oh,” the human says, and everything in Nott’s head feels like it flips upside down and inside out and fits perfectly into place.

His eyes are blue _are golden-yellow_ and lanky ginger _dark green_ hair and tattered clothes and road dust coating his face and hair and clothes. Nott isn’t too sure about how humans should look, but this one seems particularly skinny _he’s never seen a goblin alone in the world before, they usually travel in clans if at all—_

“This didn’t happen before!”

Nott’s voice is shrill even to her own ears. The human flinches back against the wall, and their strange mirrored connection breaks off. Her ears are ringing and her fingertips feel funny – not from her cherry wine but from something different and tingly.

The man slides down the wall until he hits the floor with a thump. “Hello there,” he says, quiet and accented and dazed. “So… this is really happening. Um.” He clears his throat. “Um… how are you here?”

Nott’s glad now that she chose to down that whole bottle instead of saving it. It’s making all of this much easier to deal with. “I got arrested,” she says, and plops down across the cell from the man.

“Uh…” he blinks at her for a moment, then rubs his hand across his stubbly beard and huffs out a quiet laugh. “ _Ja,_ me too.”

Then he does something she’d never expect in a million years. He holds out his hand like he expects her to shake it.

Nott looks at him like he’s fucking bonkers.

“My name is Caleb,” he says, still quiet and a little shaky. “Caleb Widogast, and I think… well, I think, somehow, you and I are… well, I don’t actually know.” He coughs a little. “But we are here, and we are something.” His blue eyes dart to hers, and she sees a keen light in them, smarts and a quick mind jumping from one opportunity to the next. “I think we might do better together than this.” He waves his other hand to the prison around him, but he leaves his right one extended to Nott.

She’s never been given the courtesy before. She’s not quite sure how hard or light to squeeze, how long is appropriate to hold on. But if she fucks it up, Caleb doesn’t show it on his dirty face.

“I’m Nott,” she says, “the Brave.”

Caleb nods. “Well, Nott the Brave,” he says, “I would very much like to figure out what is going on between us.”

“Me, too,” Nott agrees, “but maybe not inside a prison cell.”

For the first time she sees the flicker of a smile. “Well then, my new friend, let’s get out of this fucking prison cell.”

…

Molly’s head snaps back like he’s been struck. He tastes blood in his mouth – _is it blood or saltwater or dirt –_ and he’s panting, can’t get a full breath into his lungs. He lashes out, swiping for something to hold onto—

He grasps handfuls of soft cloth, cracks his knuckles against the glass hilts of his scimitars. His eyes are open now and he can see the outline of his backpack, his swords, his worldly possessions resting within reach. It smells like his tent, like the perfumes he’s picked out and the faint scent of horse that clings to everything in the carnival. There’s a rustling across the tent, but it’s only Desmond.

“Okay, kid?” he mumbles. “You w’re havin’ a nightmare?”

Molly breathes out hard, breathes in deeply. His chest hitches, but he gets a full, shuddering breath as his hand clenches around the hilt of his sword. “Fine,” he grits out. “I’m fine. I’m gonna—yeah,” and he pushes himself up. He hadn’t been sleeping, although apparently his body was laying pretty quietly in his bedroll. That was unnerving as fuck if he thought about it, so Molly banished the idea immediately and ducked out of the tent into the night air.

The sky above him was patchy with clouds, moonlight shining steadily down. No rain. No thunder, no lighting, no rocking ground and roaring sea. Instead he can smell the remains of their campfire, the heavy scent of pine trees around them.

He’s still shaking, can’t make it stop even as he takes deep breaths. The tip of his sword glimmers unsteadily in the low glow of the dying embers.

His head feels scrambled, like echoes of thunderclaps through a canyon. This past week, it’s been fairly easy to reach out to Yasha through this new connection, like it’s easy to talk to her, easy to coexist with her when she’s around.

_That_ —snapping to a total stranger and experiencing the storm so vividly—sends shivers down his spine. Who the _fuck_ was that person? Is he even still alive? Would Molly know if he were still alive?

Too many questions. Too many questions and he doesn’t know a fucking thing.

He sits down by the fire. He doesn’t reach out for Yasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fjord goes overboard during a storm while Yasha and Molly are sharing his headspace, and is unable to find his way to the surface. Yasha tries to lend Fjord her strength to help, but the sensations remind Molly of waking up underground and it sends him into a panic attack. The heightened stress breaks their current bond and Yasha snaps out of the visit.*
> 
> \--
> 
> I finished some of this between 3 and 5 am this morning after failing to sleep, so I apologize for any typos but I really wanted to get it up today and my eyes are blurring so I'll have to fix it later. 
> 
> You guys are seriously amazing! Thank you so much to everyone commenting, it makes my week to see you guys enjoying this. Big thanks to Effy on the widomauk discord for helping me figure out some trickier bits of this chapter.
> 
> Updates should continue every week from here on out! I love you all!


	4. go forth and have no fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "Renegades" by X Ambassadors

Jester adjusts her cape around her shoulders, checking her reflection in the mirror. It’s not super important or anything, but she still would like to look good on the road. You never know who you might meet, after all, and she’s never been to the Dwendalian Empire before, so maybe they all look really good while—

“You’re stalling.”

“EEK!” Jester whirls around. “ _Ohmygods you scared me!_ Don’t sneak up on people, I could have blasted you or something!”

That monk girl from before raises her eyebrows. “I don’t think you can blast what’s not really here, dude.” She looks over Jester’s backpack, her clothes, and the cute little traveling braids Jester has put her hair into. “So you’re actually hitting the road, good for you.”

Jester nods. “Yes, I’m, um, I am! Yes.” She smooths down her short cape across her shoulders. “I am headed to the Dwendalian Empire, do you know it?”

The girl snorts a little. “Um, yeah, I know it. Lived here my whole life.”

Jester gasps. “That’s where you are! You know, you never answered me when I asked where you were that one time!” She puts her hands on her hips. “And! You never told me what your name is, either!”

The girl sighs. “My name’s Beauregard,” she says. She hitches her shoulders, and this time Jester notices that she’s wearing a backpack, too. Hers looks really nice, but also like she’s used it before. She looks a lot more comfortable with it than Jester feels.

“Hey, um,” she starts. “So, if you’re from the Empire, do you have some advice for somebody who’s, like, very new there and maybe could use some help? Because I have never been out of Nicodranas and I got here to Port Damali really great, but I mean the Empire is really big and it’s kind of far away and I'm really just out here to have a good time but I actually don’t know what to do first.”

Beauregard blinks at her a couple of times. “You’re, like… why are you even out here? Where are you going?”

“I told you I’m going to the Dwendalian Empire,” Jester says, maybe she snaps a little but she’s trying to ask questions, _okay_?

“Yeah, okay, I heard you,” Beauregard says, “but, I mean…” she gestures up and down at Jester like that explains everything. “Why?”

Jester crosses her arms. “I’m _traveling_ ,” she says. “Where are you going, anyway, you’re going somewhere too or else you wouldn’t even be here, probably, so where you are going?”

Beauregard draws back. “What do you mean I wouldn’t—” her eyes narrow. “ _Oh_ , that’s a good—that’s actually a really good point.” She crosses her arms, looking Jester up and down with piercing blue eyes. “Okay, here’s an idea. You’re headed to the Dwendalian Empire, I could easily be headed south. There’s definitely something weird going on here, so let’s say you and I find each other in the Empire and try to figure this out.”

Jester gasps. “Yes! That’s a great idea! And we can go on trips together and I can tell you about the Traveler more and it’ll be great!”

“Sure,” Beauregard says slowly. “Okay, listen. It’s a long way to the Empire on foot, and somebody like you on the road alone is a target for all kinds of shit. You’ve got to find somebody to travel with; safety in numbers, you know?”

“Okay,” Jester agrees. “I _don’t_ know how I will do that, but I can figure it out!”

“Don’t trust anybody,” Beauregard cautions her, which, that doesn’t seem like super good advice to Jester, because how do you not trust _anybody_? Technically that means she shouldn’t trust _Beauregard_ , but she’s taking advice from her. Jester decides she can trust certain people.

“The Traveler will help me find somebody,” she assures Beauregard. “Besides, I’m very good at tricking people, so if anybody is trying to trick _me_ I’ll definitely know.”

Beauregard is clearly skeptical of her logic, but she’s far away so what’s she going to do about it?

“Good luck, Jester,” she says. “Hopefully I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, and we can figure out what some of this weirdness is.”

Jester nods sagely. “I’m really good at weirdness, too. I’m sure it’ll be no problem!” She picks up her backpack and hefts it over her shoulders. “Okay, Beau! I’m going now! Thank you for the advice and I hope I get to see you soon!”

This time she doesn’t glance back.

…

“Nott, will you come over here please?” Caleb makes himself comfortable on his bedroll, cross-legged and holding a clay bowl in his hands. “I have something to show you.”

Nott’s curiosity is a familiar feeling to him. They both know the warring desires of _find out_ and _run away_ , eagerness tempered by anxiety. They’ve discovered, in the last several days, that they are drawn into each other’s similarities even as they are still hiding so many of their differences.

It is a very strange sensation. But the feeling of a living, sentient being for company after so long alone is an overwhelming relief and a joy neither of them will poison with questions.

“I have an idea,” Caleb explains, “for how we get a little bit of extra money. It has worked okay for me in the past, but I think together we could have more success.”

“And it has to do with this pot?” Nott asks, peering intently at it.

Caleb smiles. “The pot is irrelevant. The fun part is _this_.”

He fishes a copper out of his pocket and drops it in the bowl. Then he concentrates on it and wills it to _change_.

The rush of transmutation energy flows through his hands, through his mind, and his senses burst open and everything about the copper coin is clear to him, malleable at his fingertips. He can feel the shift of the metal’s component parts and the vibration of magic in the world and—

—and he can feel _Nott_ , like a breath on the back of his neck he can sense her concentrating on him. He feels it as she sees through his senses, as she peers into his magic and sees the coin as he does and _understands_ what he’s doing.

Caleb snaps out of it with a gasp. It has been only seconds. The coin in his bowl is pure silver and Nott is staring at him.

“What was that?” she blurts out. She fumbles for her flask, but she’s staring, entranced, at the silver coin in the bowl. “You did that! You did something! I felt it!”

“Yes,” Caleb murmurs. “Nott, you have no arcane training, correct?”

“None at all,” she denies, taking a hearty swig.

Caleb nods slowly. This is very interesting. It’s also even more advantageous than he could have hoped for. “Alright, then, Nott, here is what we do.”

…

Fjord has had a weird couple of days. Even considering the oddity of these… dreams? visits? _experiences_ he’s been having, everything since the mutiny has turned his whole world upside down.

There’d been no sign of the pale woman and the lavender tiefling when he woke up. In fact, he hasn’t seen any of the three apparitions since then. He still has no idea _how_ he even woke up – by all rights he should have died there. Could that woman have swum his body to shore after Fjord passed out? He doesn’t know anything about these visits. He doesn’t know what’s impossible.

There have been other things, too. The falchion, for one; he took it with him, but he doesn’t know _why_. He’s noticed some… magical effects, too, and he doesn’t know how he’s doing it. No-one in Port Damali can help him understand it, and he needs to get out of dodge anyway. When word of the shipwreck gets back, he can’t be the sole survivor.

The Dwendalian Empire is a terrible idea, but it’s the only one he has. He’s heard of a top-notch magic academy there, probably the only place on the continent that could tell him what happened to him, let alone help him master these new talents.

He picked up his papers this morning. It feels like his whole life is in Port Damali, and it’s a gut-punch to know there’s nothing here for him anymore. Vandren is dead and he can’t take on another job with the shipwreck and these powers hanging over him. So he goes East, there’s no other way.

Fjord turns around and freezes.

It’s Jester – the first one who ever appeared to him, the blue girl with the fluffy dress and freckles. She’s here. And she’s _talking to someone else._ She’s _real_.

 Does he go up to her? Does he avoid her? Should he try to appear to her instead – no, he doesn’t know how that works, and besides they’re less than a hundred feet apart, why would he—

She looks up. Fjord is frozen in the middle of the street as she turns and looks right at him.

From across the market, he can see her eyes light up.

She dashes across the square, her gear clanking loudly as she sprints up to him. “Fjord! Fjord, hey, you’re here! Oh wow I have so much to tell you but where are you right now? Are you still on your ship? We can talk where you are if you have work to do, I can go like order some milk and sit down and we can talk there—”

“Jester,” he interrupts, and he reaches out and touches her shoulder.

She’s real. She’s solid and warm under his hand. Her cloak is fine material, and she’s dressed for travel. Well, more dressed for travel than she was when she visited the ship. She’s a long way from Nicodranas now.

She’s also staring at him. “Oh my gosh,” she whispers. “Oh my gosh! You’re _here_! We’re both actually, really here!”

“Holy shit,” Fjord manages. “Yeah, uh—yeah, this is real. We’re both here.” He clears his throat. “Why _are_ you here? You said you live in Nicodranas, right?”

“Yeah.” Jester deflates a little. “Well, I had to leave, it’s a funny story but I’ll fill you in later. I’m going to see the Dwendalian Empire now! It’ll be fun! There’s this girl I’m meeting there—” she gasps. “Maybe you’ve met her too! Have you met Beauregard, she’s a monk and she’s kind of grumpy but she’s very cool and smart!”

“I don’t believe I have,” Fjord says, “I met a woman the other day, though, and another tiefling, as a matter of fact. Didn’t catch either of their names.”

Jester tugs eagerly at his cloak. “Fjord, I have an idea! You should totally come with me to meet Beau! You know, you don’t want to travel by yourself for that far, and we already so each other basically so you can trust me!”

“Well, now, Jester, that—” He pauses. Why shouldn’t he go with her? She’s headed to the Empire, and Rexxentrum is a hell of a long ways away. He would like a friendly face on the trip. Being left alone with his thoughts these past couple of days has been nothing but unsettling.

“That’s a good idea,” he says. “Maybe on the way we can figure out some of this… interesting stuff we’ve got going on, as well.”

Jester beams at him. “Let’s go, then!” She grabs him by the hand and skips towards the city gates. “This is gonna be _great!_ ”

…

Molly stretches his arms high above his head, feelings joints pop satisfyingly and tired muscles tremble. He lets out a long breath as he relaxes for the first time all day.

A new town, a new day hyping up the circus and handing out fliers to anyone who would take one from a loud purple tiefling like him. In this town, not very many, but he managed to hand off a whole stack to a group of excitable children after doing some tricks with his sword.

“Have a good day, then?”

Molly rolls his neck and shrugs as Gustav passes by his tent. “Could’ve gone better,” he admits. “Could’ve gone worse, though.”

Gustav looks him over shrewdly. “Are you doing alright, Molly?”

The problem with knowing someone your whole conscious life is that they learn your tells before you even know them. He manages a smile for Gustav, and it even feels almost normal. “I’ll be fine,” he says. He always is. “Just one of those days, it’ll pass.” It’s only partly the truth. He’s been on edge ever since that visit with Yasha went sour, and he feels more tightly wound with each day that passes without seeing her in person or spirit.

But Gustav nods and pats him on the shoulder before heading off to his vardo. Molly sighs. He doesn’t like having these days, but they happen to him sometimes, and Gustav is always good to him about it. Gives him space or makes a place for him if he wants it.

Tonight feels like one of those nights he’d rather have someone with him, but Gustav is likely going to be up late tonight poring over last-minute details and muttering to himself. Desmond doesn’t like touch, and Bo never returned from the tavern, lucky sod. If he was feeling really low he might go to Orna, but it’s not worth the trouble tonight. He just wishes—

He sighs and pushes the thought away. Yasha will be Yasha, and it’s none of his business when she leaves and when she returns, it’s just—

“ _Molly_!”

Before he even turns around, he’s slammed and surrounded by Yasha’s presence. He yelps as his feet leave the ground entirely, his legs and tail flailing instinctively. Strong arms wrap around his waist and ruck up his shirt and suddenly—

_—so fucking relieved he’s alright, she lost him in the storm and couldn’t calm, couldn’t find him, locked in her own body and she ran, left her task only mostly finished and ran—_

“Yasha,” he gasps, “Yasha, you’re back! I’m okay, it’s okay!”

“ _Molly_ ,” Yasha repeats and squeezes him, and he wheezes loudly. She doesn’t let go, but she lets him wiggle around so that he can put his arms around her in return.

“After what happened,” she mutters, “I couldn’t reach out, I felt so—so _much_ and it was like my head wouldn’t settle. I tried to focus on you, I just—I had to know if you were okay, but the most I could get was just this—this _pull_ to where you were and I just followed it and—” she squeezes his ribs again. “I just—I’m glad you’re okay.”

Molly pats her shoulders gently. She hasn’t quite set him down yet, and he isn’t sure she’s realized that she’s holding him off the ground. It puts him right at the perfect height to drop a kiss on her head, so he does.

“I’m so much better now,” he assures her. Her relief is coursing through him, the love she carries in her fierce heart, and Molly finds tears rushing to his eyes and he buries his face in her hair. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening,” he says, and his voice shakes but Yasha crushes him gently and it makes everything bearable. “I don’t know what this is, but _gods_ I’m so happy you’re back.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Yasha mumbles. “I thought—well, I thought it would be easy. It was something little. But there’s—Molly, there must be _more of us_ , there’s more than you and me, but I don’t even know if that man _survived_ —”

“We will figure it out,” Molly repeats her firmly, and he shoves away the dread in his gut at the idea of _maybe this is him, maybe this is something inside of him and left over from that other person_. He pushes it away and kicks his feet lightly. “Set me down, now, love.” He breaks out a smile just for her. “We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
